


Coming Home

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fingering, Hormones, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Dysphoria, Oral, SMUTCATION, Vaginal Sex, but obviously the shit ending of 307 doesn't happen in this verse, canon AU, canon adjacent, it's not oversexualized, the fic doesn't go past clexa sexa, there are minor scenes with finn and niylah to show clarke's emotional state but they aren't graphic, this should be a safe read for trans women, trans clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Lexa loved her. She hadn’t said it outright, but the uncertainty in her voice, the mingled fear and hope in her glistening eyes just before they kissed, had given her away. It made Clarke want to kiss her again.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: "Do you think you could write a Clexa trans fic with G!P Clarke and how they navigate their first time together?"
> 
> I don't usually like g!p Clarke but I think trans Clarke is in a different category. :) This should be a safe read for *all* trans women, not just the group who enjoys my omegaverse stuff.
> 
> Please follow me on tumblr @raedmagdon for more! I'm doing a smutcation the next few days and filling prompts.

 

One year. Fifty two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days. **  
**

Back on the Ark, for her seventeenth birthday, Clarke requested only one thing: an actual calendar to hang on her wall. They weren’t widely available, since old-fashioned, fragile things like paper were difficult to come by in space. Most of her art was done digitally, or on surfaces that could be washed and reused. But this time, she insisted. She wanted a calendar, a paper one where she could mark off the days.

As soon as her father presented it, she flipped to the month of her birthday, circling the date itself in bright red marker. Inside the circle, she wrote three letters: SRS.

She only got to mark off six days before the guards came for her father.

The rest of that year was spent in solitary. No calendar. No red X’s. No doctor’s appointment.

Seventeen years of waiting, but one year and one act of treason too short.

***

“Come on,” Finn moaned against Clarke’s neck, his fingers dipping low on her belly. They were hot, insistent, and even though they made Clarke’s stomach flutter, they made her flinch with something other than pleasure too.

She knew she was being difficult. Finn wasn’t trying to guilt her into anything. He was a good guy, mostly, and was only trying to be fair. Most girls would be thrilled to have someone actually invested in getting them off, especially after a blowjob.

“Finn,” she murmured, lacing her fingers with his. Her shirt was off, but her pants weren’t, and the thought of removing them made the sweat around her hairline feel clammy and cold. “I… can’t... right now.”

“What?” Finn asked. “Are you on your period or something?”

Clarke didn’t confirm or deny it. It wasn’t that she was ashamed or anything, but they’d only known each other a total of three days. And during those three days, they’d almost gotten killed way too many times. Then Finn had kissed her, and he’d smelled good despite all they’d been through, and she’d wanted him. Before she’d thought about it, her bra was off and his pants were coming down, just because she’d needed to feel something good. Something other than fear.

So much for that. Here she was, feeling fear anyway.

She’d always promised herself she’d tell all her partners—and she had before, since her first time at sixteen. She didn’t want to waste her time with idiots anyway. But the words stuck in her throat.

The look of disappointment on Finn’s face and the furrow in his brow made Clarke’s heart sink. Shit, there had to be a way to salvage this.

“Here,” she rasped, threading her fingers through his hair and drawing his head to her chest. “Use your mouth? I… want to touch myself.”

To his credit, Finn was game. He didn’t complain. He took her up on her offer happily, seeming pleased just to give her a chance at being pleased, even though Clarke knew it wasn’t what he wanted. She was able to slide into her fly and relax enough to come in her own hand—a weak, shuddering orgasm, but better than nothing.

***

There was one, and only one, good thing about Clarke’s brief stint in Mount Weather. Hormones. The nurse didn’t even raise an eyebrow when she asked. He just inquired about her dose and replaced her implant.

President Wallace found out later, of course. He even mentioned it, in his clumsy way, leaning forward into her personal space and smelling too strongly of cologne. “You know, we have the medical treatment you need here, Clarke. For you, and for your friends. It’s a good thing we found you when we did.”

She escaped anyway. No way would she trade hormones for this. But it bought her more time, at least. As a thank you, she only flipped the Mountain off once before heading into the forest with Anya.

***

Maybe the Mount Weather implant was messed up.

The past several days had sucked—mood swings, breakouts, night sweats, general not-rightness. And, of course, the worst side effect of all: a heightened libido at the same time Clarke wanted to crawl out of her skin. Although, she thought, deliberately avoiding the temptation to glance at Commander Lexa as she stood beside the war table, maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe the hormones are working. Maybe it’s just… her.

Being attracted to girls was fine. Normal. She’d dealt with that a little after puberty. Compared to the other stuff, it had barely been a blip on her radar. But being attracted to this girl… fuck. It was all wrong. Lexa was a Grounder. She’d killed Finn. ( _No, you did,_ Clarke’s mind added in a poisonous voice.) Not to mention Lexa was the leader of a huge army—an army who could very easily kill everyone Clarke cared about.

Her anatomy didn’t seem to care about that.

That was why, when Lexa strode over with a feminine sway in her hips that somehow didn’t detract from her confident, masculine stride at all, Clarke nearly swallowed her tongue. Her mouth was dry, because all the blood in her body had rushed south.

Shit. She didn’t have time to deal with this. She had to save her friends, not worry about hiding hard-ons from the girl who’d wanted to kill her a short while ago.

“Commander,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.

“Clarke. Let’s begin.”

They turned toward the table together, and Clarke choked on a whimper. Damn it. Lexa just had to smell like leather and pine, with a little bit of sweetness caught in her braided hair. How was she supposed to fight back against that?

***

Clarke had never fucked someone angry before.

It wasn’t Niylah who had set fire to the rage within her, but she took it out on the girl’s body anyway, straddling the line between control and fury. She left bruises on Niylah’s breasts and thighs, and when she finally buried her head and her hand between Niylah’s legs, Clarke didn’t come up for air until she was a well-fucked mess.

Making Niylah come helped. She wasn’t sure why it helped, exactly. (Maybe because, if she squinted, she could pretend the woman above her was… someone else.) But it helped, so she did it, again and again, pouring passion straight through the hole inside her even though she knew it couldn’t be filled this way.

If Niylah had shown any hesitance, any resistance, if she had said a single word, Clarke would have gentled her touches, but there was no need. Niylah seemed to relish the rough treatment, and Clarke was relieved that the two of them were right for each other, at least for tonight.

But eventually, the moment came—the moment she had tried not to think about too much. “Please,” Niylah said, looking down at her with pleading eyes. “Let me touch you?”

Clarke hesitated. She wanted to be touched. The ache within her was strong, but she didn’t know how Niylah would react, and that fear, that not-knowing, clogged her chest. “I…” She forced the rest out with a push of bravery. “Do Grounders have people who were born as men but become women?”

It was not the way she would have phrased it talking to another Arker. She had never been “born” as anything but herself. However, she couldn’t think of a clearer way to convey to Niylah what she meant.

Niylah looked surprised. She remained silent for several seconds, a thousand thoughts flitting across her face Clarke held her breath, waiting, until eventually, Niylah nodded. “Yes, we do. And we have the opposite as well. They are called  _swicha_. They choose to live as the gender they truly are later in life.” She paused. “Are you speaking about yourself?”

Clarke swallowed. Nodded. “Yes.”

Niylah smiled. “I only ride mares, but…” Clarke tensed, confused by the contrast between Niylah’s statement and her reassuring, friendly expression. “You are a woman. So I will ask again. Please, let me touch you?”

Clarke fairly melted with relief. The urge to fuck and bruise was gone, and the urge to touch, to connect, grew stronger. “Please,” she rasped, rolling into her back.

***

Three months. She’d been on her own in the wilderness for three months, nursing her anger, imagining killing Lexa in a thousand different ways. Now, here she was, with a blade at Lexa’s throat. Finally.

Clarke could hear each quiet sip of breath Lexa took—could actually feel it, both against her chest and on her face. Her heart thundered harder. There was that scent again, leather and pine and something else, and despite everything, she didn’t hate it.

_No. You’re supposed to kill her. You hate her, remember? She betrayed you._

But those thoughts slipped further and further away. The shining green of Lexa’s eyes was all regret, and it tugged at a place in Clarke’s chest that she had forgotten about. It also sent pulsing heat down the column of her spine, a liquid warmth that pooled in her lower back and stretched to other, more uncomfortable places.

 _Fine. You don’t just hate her,_ Clarke conceded, so her body’s reactions wouldn’t make a liar of her.  _Some messed up part of you still wants to fuck her. Hatefuck her. Consensually. Somehow._

The words didn’t ring true, though, and Clarke gritted her teeth in frustration. It wasn’t just about hate anymore. Maybe it had never been. When she looked into Lexa’s eyes, she didn’t see evil. She saw sadness, regret—not shame, exactly, because Clarke knew with absolute certainty that Lexa would have made the same choice again… but something like it. Responsibility?

Just thinking about how Lexa felt responsible for her pain, for her friends’ pain, made Clarke angrier even as her hand wavered. She pulled away. Dropped the knife. She still hated Lexa, but she couldn’t do this.

Maybe because in another life, another time, she would have made the same choice—and lived with the consequences, no matter how much they hurt.

***

 _I have no idea how we got here,_  Clarke thought as she gazed down at the vision before her. Golden stripes of afternoon sunlight spilled onto Lexa’s skin, bathing her body and giving her face a soft glow. ‘Soft’ was never a word Clarke would have chosen to describe Lexa before, but as time had passed, she’d come to realize the truth of it.

Lexa was strong, but soft too.

Lexa was both a warrior and a peacemaker.

Lexa was fierce, but forgiving.

And Lexa had betrayed her, but Lexa also loved her. Lexa hadn’t said it outright, but the uncertainty in her voice, the mingled fear and hope in her glistening eyes just before they kissed, had given her away.

It made Clarke want to kiss her again.

This was nothing like Finn or Niylah. Not only did she crave Lexa down to her bones, but she held no trace of doubt as she climbed onto the bed, straddling Lexa’s hips. Lexa’s hands came to rest on hers, and their lips met in another kiss—one that started soft, but quickly became heated.

For all the rushing they’d done the past few days, the next several minutes passed slowly. There was an urgency to each touch, every kiss, but it was sincere rather than frantic. She mouthed across Lexa’s shoulder, her collarbone, her breasts, bestowing each glorious inch of flesh with kisses. Lexa’s hands learned her back, and when Clarke sucked a stiff brown peak into her mouth, she felt the subtle scrape of nails dragging between her shoulders.

More than anything, Clarke wanted to show the strength of her feelings. They had seemed new and frightening only a short while ago, but now, they were simply a part of her. They had been a part of her for a long time, even though she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

“Clarke…”

The way Lexa said her name, as though lost in a dream, made Clarke’s heart swell and warmth pool in her belly. But that warmth brought with it a realization—the swell at the front of her pants. Oh.

She closed her eyes. Looking at Lexa’s face suddenly made everything all too real.

“Lexa, um…” She forced herself to open them again, to meet Lexa’s gaze and hold it, hoping it conveyed honesty. “I’m  _swicha._ Do you understand?”

Lexa did not look surprised. Her smile remained just as tender, just as welcoming. “Clarke, you are  _you_. That is all I need.”

It was such a simple statement, but so sincere that it brought burning wetness to Clarke’s eyes. She kissed Lexa again, softly, and when her hands moved down between them, it wasn’t to remove Lexa’s pants, but to unfasten her own.

They traded more kisses and touches as they stripped away the last of their clothes. When the moment came for Clarke to take off her underwear, there was no hesitation. Then Lexa’s hand was on her, stroking her, and Lexa held her eyes for every caress, making absolutely sure each one was wanted.

A moan escaped from between Clarke’s lips. She was rising swiftly—too swiftly—but it was such a relief to be touched by someone she trusted. And, yes, she did trust Lexa, in spite of the betrayal and everything else that had happened. She trusted Lexa more than anyone else, because Clarke knew her. Somehow, in an incredibly short time, she had learned the map of Lexa’s soul.

That was why, when Lexa tipped her gently onto her back and kissed down her belly, Clarke didn’t object. She threaded her fingers through Lexa’s hair, not quite pushing, but sighing to show her happiness. That was why, when Lexa’s hand gripped her base and Lexa’s tongue swirled across her tip, Clarke’s hips gave an unsteady jerk, and she whimpered as wetness leaked out of her. The heat. The heat was wonderful, but also unbearable.

To her immense relief, Lexa didn’t tease. She started sucking, and Clarke started shifting her hips, until they had developed something of a rhythm. Under Lexa’s mouth and hand, Clarke became a fountain. Pressure throbbed within her, and she bit her lip, fighting against it—but she had been fighting for so long, and a layer of ice around her heart thawed when she realized she didn’t have to anymore.

“Lexa,” she panted, pulling her new lover’s head back up.

Lexa swept another stripe of heat across her head, but allowed herself to be guided away. “Clarke…”

“I…”

Clarke couldn’t find the words to ask for what she wanted, but somehow, Lexa knew. She straddled Clarke’s hips without a word, seeking permission with her eyes.

“Um, Lexa… I don’t want to get you, uh…” She couldn’t say it. She didn’t like being reminded of the fact that it was a possibility. It was extremely unlikely with her implant, but she couldn’t in good conscience do this to Lexa without a warning, or a chance to back out.

Lexa smiled. “Nightblood women are given medicine for that. Our monthly cycles can be complicated, so we suppress them.”

“Yeah?” Clarke could have thanked the stars. “Okay,” she said, with a shaking breath. “If you want to…” I want to.

As soon as she was granted permission, Lexa guided Clarke in her.

Clarke’s entire body jolted at first contact. Warmth. Wetness. Tight, slick muscle. Being inside of Lexa was heaven and she didn’t ever want to leave. But she had to eventually, because Lexa started rising and falling. Every time she lost a little of Lexa’s heat, Clarke’s stomach cramped painfully with disappointment. Every time it came back, she pounded harder.

She could see that same fullness between Lexa’s legs, the stiff bud of her clit poking out from beneath its hood, and Clarke swiped her fingers across it, taking advantage of the slickness. She wanted Lexa to come with her. She wanted to make Lexa feel as good as Lexa was making her feel. Lexa shivered, whined, and clamped down around her, and Clarke couldn’t keep herself from grinning.

Their hips rolled as one, and there was no disagreement about the rhythm. They both fell into it naturally, scents mingling, skin sliding, hands grasping. Clarke’s found Lexa’s hips while Lexa’s held her shoulders. With each thrust, the two of them shuddered.

It rushed toward conclusion far too soon. Clarke tensed her core, trying to avoid it, but the inevitability of release couldn’t be ignored. She was hurtling toward her peak, and she wanted—needed—to get Lexa there first. She worked her fingers faster, feather-light strokes, growing firmer as she listened to Lexa’s voice rise to fill the room.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasped, and that was it. Clarke groaned as Lexa squeezed impossibly tight, covering her in a rippling rush of warmth.

It was all the encouragement she needed. She gave in to the powerful pull, releasing the fullness straining for freedom within her. She spilled in short bursts, scarcely able to breathe, looking up into Lexa’s eyes the entire time. Their green color was clouded with desire, but it didn’t cover one bit of the love within them.

They came together, quivering, for several seconds that felt like far longer. When both of their bodies relaxed, Lexa lowered herself onto Clarke’s chest, apparently content to let Clarke remain within her as the sweat cooled from their bodies.

“I hope that was all right.” Lexa voice wasn’t hesitant or timid—she knew it had been more than all right—but she did seem to be seeking some subtle reassurance. “Costia was not  _swicha,_  although she did have other ways to fill me.”

Clarke smiled. She pressed a kiss to Lexa’s temple, inhaling the scent that lived in her hair. “It’s okay. I, uh… I have experience, but I don’t usually—inside. So, that was new.”

Lexa stirred her hips just a little over Clarke’s, and though the motion was slow, it was enough to bring new warmth and awareness back between her legs. “If you would like to try again,” Lexa said, giving another gentle push, “I would be willing.”

“Yeah?”

Linking their legs together, Clarke flipped their bodies over, bracing herself on her elbows as Lexa’s back hit the mattress. She leaned down for another kiss, giving her hips a testing push. The movement, and the woman beneath her, felt like coming home.


End file.
